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You’re In! (Urine)

I’ve been busy the last couple of days with work. As any of my other fellow partially unemployed (funemployed) colleagues out there know. Living without a full time job, is not as easy as one might think. There are plenty of things that need to get done in a day, and the difficulty is exacerbated by the fact that we are responsible for providing our own structure.

For example, whereas in my past life in corporate America, I spent my entire day strategically planning coffee breaks at places that were guaranteed to have the longest line, drinking as much water as possible in order to secure the company record of the most daily urinations (this was a solo effort. There is absolutely no evidence that this record exists, but JUST IN case…I think it’s safe to say I’d be up there with an impressive 14), and ensuring that every social gathering, whether it be birthday/baby shower etc. lasted to the absolute longest possible second…my daily life had evolved into a very disciplined routine.

Add in the fact that I am the sole occupant of my bathroom, and can take a shit in peace without the fear of “getting caught” (as I like to call it) by another person. On the reverse, I’d like to say.. that I’m not in favor of doing the catching either. In a few hours I’ll have to update you with the daily sales, or some other meaningless work jargon, and act like I didn’t just recently hear your cacophonous rendition of our national anthem…in the key of fart.

Honestly, if you’re going to partake in the dancing of the dingleberries, without the common courtesy of caring for your fellow employees, then at least change your shoes.

Do you honestly expect me not to look?

Anyway, everything that I just wrote was completely tangential. I actually only wanted to present you all with this picture.

You know this weekends Vegas trip is going to be something… when this is the forewarning you get by the birthday girls mother.

On a side note, I just recalled my dream which took place in an office like setting. I was in the bathroom when someone told me The GodFather is out there. In reality it was Steve Martin with a hitler mustache. Those advil PMs really do the trick.